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Playing second fiddle

A mere 46 feet lower in height, Scafell is to my mind, a superior summit to England's highest, Scafell Pike, in every way. Far from playing second fiddle and effectively distanced from its more popular, crowded neighbour by the impasse of Broad Stand and the intimidating walls of the East Buttress, it even looks higher from the valley floor.

I was mildly amused then, on running in from Eskdale and across Great Moss, to pass a couple by the Samson Stones, whose reaction to my greeting was to ask in wildly exaggerated admiration, not where I was heading but simply, if I was going all the way to the top. Sadly, such is the fixation of so many, with England's highest mountain.

The Samson Stones themselves are a worthwhile destination in fact and I remember many happy camps here, long hot days spent on the crags above or simply bouldering on the stones themselves before swimming in the river below.

Avoiding Broad Stand, intent on running the route we will follow for the BG, I dropped to the gully which leads back via Foxes Tarn to the summit of Scafell.

From the col just north of the summit, long views across Kirk Fell, Pillar to the left, Grassmoor top right and just visible above High Stile and Red Pike in the center, Criffel, across the Solway.

Heading down, hands numb and eyes streaming in a bitter wind...

...but it is a fast few miles and warm work, pausing just once to look back on Slight Side, Scafell hidden behind, and Ill Crag (far right), before dropping back to the River Esk through lush fields full of herdwicks - a quintessential lakeland scene.

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A few images from two days on the fells, linking sections of the Bob Graham - just the last and hopefully the easiest few miles left to run now, those from the summit of Robinson back to Keswick. Mixed weather gave way to a beautiful evening on the last day - looking back towards Bowfell. The climb of Dale Head from Honister and the ridge towards Hindscarth proved easier and more enjoyable respectively than expected - Red Pike (the one not on the route) the prominent summit in the distance. And the steep descent to Honister, late in the afternoon. But not too late for the café and cake. All good.

Passing through Hebden Bridge recently, I was reminded of a day in Spring - a day snatched between work and weather, in the first real warmth of the year with the first of the curlew on the moors above. Driving through the narrow streets already shadowed by the steep hills among which the town nestles, I wondered as I often have about my own feelings for the place. It is a town of character and one in which there is a sense of community long since lost in all too many places, and when the sun is out, it is vibrant, full of life and colour. It also reminds me of places I climbed in the winter, in Norway, in which celebrations are held each year on the first day that the sun reaches the town centre...Like many such places, feelings run high among those who favour the area, indeed if you were to listen to many local mountain-bikers, you might be forgiven for thinking there was nowhere else on the planet worth riding. But for me it has always been a place to run... ...among the wooded vall…

After spending so many years so close to this part of the world, the only surprise is that I haven't spent more time here before now. Another early start and another beautiful morning, running the Ribble Valley.Nb. Both the pictures in this and the previous post were taken on an iPhone - while I will happily run with the SLR in a small pack, I find myself doing so less and less, principally because on mornings like these, I would be stopping every few minutes to take photos. It remains a dilemma and on many occasions I have sorely missed the camera, but more often, especially on these longer routes, I am grateful to be free of the pack and the weight.